


devil like me

by hale_and_hearty



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Non-Graphic Depiction of Death, SCORPIA!Alex, assassin!Alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hale_and_hearty/pseuds/hale_and_hearty
Summary: Alex's mark was a man of simple pleasures — booze, ecstasy, and men half his age. Kazimir Veselovsky was the owner of Sandstone Club, and one of the leading perpetuators in human trafficking. He was also a staunch environmental extremist and had hosted many rallies and protests in favor of eradicating all human invention and development in order to give the land back over to Mother Nature. It was an odd juxtaposition. It was also none of Alex’s business.//AU in which most of the events of Scorpia did not take place, and Alex became an assassin for Scorpia instead of returning home.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 66





	devil like me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emptythoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptythoughts/gifts).



> I…don't know what this is or why I wrote it. Blame quarantine, I guess. Loosely inspired by Tiger King? Very very very loosely because I've never actually seen it and it's more of just The Vibes, if you will. 
> 
> Title from "Devil Like Me" from Rainbow Kitten Surprise.
> 
> Gifted to emptythoughts because do I ever write anything that isn't for her

For all intents and purposes, Alex was twenty-six.

Trauma had roughened him around the edges, made him look older. The dark shadows under his eyes, the scruffy beard that walked a line between neat and unruly, the lean, muscular body. 

In reality, he was nineteen. Once, his youth had made him a valuable asset. It still did — but nineteen was an inconvenient age. Particularly in the States.

“ID?” the bouncer asked, and Alex feigned at mild irritation, digging into his tight jeans for his wallet, sliding out the forged driver’s license. Taylor Bridges, twenty-six, organ donor. The bouncer glanced at the date of birth and handed it back to Alex without a second thought, stepping aside to let him into the club.

Alex tucked his wallet back into his jeans as he stepped under the neon strobe lights. There was glitter on his skin already, a little bit of kohl smudged around his eyes. His mark was a man of simple pleasures—booze, ecstasy, and men half his age. He was also visible from the front door, perched in the farthest corner of the room on a raised platform, martini glass in hand and cold green eyes surveying the throngs of gyrating bodies below him with mild interest. Alex had caught his eye before he’d even made his way over to the bar. 

They locked eyes. Alex gave him a slow, considering smile, and watched his mark say something to one of the security agents up on the platform with him. Alex finished his journey to the bar and ordered a whiskey, neat. The drink was just being slid across the bar to him when someone tapped on his shoulder.

Alex turned. It was the security guard from the platform, looking apathetic as Alex raised his glass to his lips, arching a questioning brow. “Mr. Veselovsky would like a word.”

Alex pretended to look around the room for the “Mr. Veselovsky,” and let his eyes land on his mark. Kazimir Veselovsky was the owner of Sandstone Club, and one of the leading perpetuators in human trafficking. He was also a staunch environmental extremist and had hosted many rallies and protests in favor of eradicating all human invention and development in order to give the land back over to Mother Nature. It was an odd juxtaposition. It was also none of Alex’s business. 

“Is that him?” he asked innocently, gesturing with his glass towards the man in question. The security guard grunted in acknowledgement, and Alex smirked. “Well. Who am I to say no to a man like that?”

Alex was lead over to the platform with a firm hand on the small of his back, pushing him forward through the crowd. He climbed the spiral staircase, and was beckoned forward by Veselovsky himself, his eyes hooded. Alex was ushered onto the velvet lounge next to him, and Veselovsky slithered his arm around Alex’s shoulder.

“You’re new,” Veselovsky purred in his ear, close enough that he didn’t have to shout to be heard over the pounding music. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

His fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of Alex’s neck. Idly, Alex thought it was time for a haircut. 

“I’m not from here,” Alex replied, and twisted in the seat, bringing up one leg and crossing it under him. It gave the impression of him giving Veselovsky his full attention, making the moment more intimate. It also took Veselovsky’s hand off his back. “I’m Taylor.”

“Taylor,” Veselovsky repeated, smile curling the corner of his lip. “I’m Kaz.” 

“You must be pretty important to have the VIP section all to yourself,” Alex flirted. Veselovsky snorted. 

“It’s my club.”

“It’s very nice.”

“It could be nicer,” Veselovsky said with a shrug. “It could be a little more...private.” 

Jesus, Alex thought. He’d expected a challenge. 

“It’s a shame,” he said, and let the fingers not still wrapped around his glass smooth out an invisible wrinkle from Veselovsky’s button down. “It would be nice to have somewhere quiet to chat.” 

He emphasized  _ chat _ , his accent flawlessly American, and Veselovsky was hooked, line and sinker. 

He snapped something to one of his security guards in rapid-fire Russian, and Alex pretended he didn’t understand what Veselovsky was saying as he ordered them to keep an eye on the club so he could have a special moment with his new toy. Alex fought back a grimace, and let Veselovsky guide him, arm over his shoulder, through a dark hallway at the other end of the platform, leading him out of sight of the rest of the club.

“Would you like a drink?” Veselovsky asked, closing the door behind them as they entered his private suite. Alex had been in it the night before, doing quick reconnaissance, but pretended to be astounded by the lavish furnishings all the same. 

“Please. Whiskey, neat.” He set down his empty glass on the glass coffee table, doing a slow turn to study the tiger print duvet on the king-sized bed. There was a large mirror on the ceiling above it.

“This is a nice room,” Alex said, turning when Veselovsky returned to his side, pressing the fresh glass into his hand. 

Veselovsky scoffed. “It is needlessly extravagant. But my guests do not often appreciate the bed of grass Mother Nature has so graciously gifted us with, so. I bring them here.”

“Their loss,” Alex said absently, taking a sip of his whiskey. It burned going down, and Alex was reminded why he refrained from drinking outside of missions. “We could take this outside. If you wanted.”

It wouldn’t affect Alex’s plans either way. He had a condom in his back pocket that was laced with arsenic and had a special coating on the outside to keep the poison from transferring to him during intercourse. Get Veselovsky off quickly, get out of town, and the man would be dead within twenty-four hours. Anyone who suspected him would have no way of finding him. He would return to his flat in Germany with a few hundred thousand extra euros in his offshore bank account, having satisfied another client and left Veselovsky’s goons scratching their heads, unable to track down the assassin. 

Veselovsky looked delighted by the prospect of moving outdoors, and opened his mouth to answer just as there was a loud knock on the door. Veselovsky startled, and the hair on the back of Alex’s neck raised in alarm. 

“Kaz?” It was a soft, whiny voice. The speaker couldn’t have been older than Alex, and he knocked again, louder. “Kaz, come on, I know you’re there. Let me in.”

Veselovsky turned wide eyes on Alex and swore in Russian. “You have to hide,” he hissed quietly. “Go—the closet!” 

He shoved Alex towards the indicated closet, and Alex blinked. It was rare that he was surprised on the job anymore. He hesitated only a moment before deciding to roll with the punches, and ducked into the closet as requested, leaving it cracked open so he could just make out the bed if he tilted his head right.

He heard the door being opened. “Finley! What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, asshole,” came the grumbled reply. “You really thought you could just abandon me in Puerto Rico?”

“Baby, I did not mean to abandon you. You know that. Business called, and you were unavailable—”

“You mean one of your fucking _whores_ called, and you decided it was easier to leave me on the beach than lie to my face.”

“That is not what I mean, Finley, baby. Come inside. Let’s get you a drink.”

Alex heard the door click shut and then locked, and a moment later, Finley perched on the edge of the bed. Alex shrunk back into the darkness of the closet, but Finley, all five foot five inches of him, was staring across the room, where, presumably, Veselovsky was preparing him a drink.

“I waited for you,” Finley said quietly. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his bulky jacket, the line of his shoulders tense. “I waited for hours at the hotel before the maid came by, surprised to find the room still occupied after you had checked out hours before.”

“That was all just a misunderstanding,” Veselovsky protested. “I sent Sedgewick back for you, baby, but he said you’d disappeared. I had him killed over it.”

“Stop  _ lying  _ to me!” Finley spat, and stood, withdrawing one hand from his pocket. A diamond ring glinted in the light for a second before Finley threw it across the room. “I was going to fucking marry you! I was going to let you keep your whores and turn a blind eye to your sex ring or whatever and then you fucking left me!”

“Baby,” Veselovsky said, and now his voice was nervous. He inched back into Alex’s line of sight, hands held up in a placating manner, and Finley stumbled back a step, hitting the bed and tumbling back onto it. Veselovsky was on him in a second, a hand on either side of Finley’s head, one leg between Finley’s and the other braced him against the bed. “Baby, I want to marry you or I wouldn’t have given you that ring. Come on. You know you’re the only one for me.”

Then they were kissing, and Alex pressed his lips into a tight line. So. This was unplanned. And awkward, as their kiss turned aggressive. One of Finley’s hands came up and gripped tightly into Veselovsky’s hair, and Alex was trying to figure out how to turn this around (he was not going to hide in the closet all night, but it also did not look like he would be able to get a condom on Veselovsky at this rate) when Finley’s other hand finally came up out of his jacket pocket.

He had a gun. 

There was no sound when he pulled the trigger. He might have been just a kid, but he’d brought a good gun and a better silencer. Veselovsky slumped on top of him, dead, and Alex watched as Finley reached one shaky hand up to his own face, fingertips dragging through the blood splattered across his cheeks. Then, he laughed. Harsh and grating and hysterical, his eyes squeezing shut tight. Alex took that as his cue to leave.

He opened the closet door slowly, silently, and crept across the carpet unnoticed. He had his hand on the doorknob before Finley opened his eyes and saw him. 

"Hey." 

Alex cursed himself mentally, and turned back to look at Finley and the body on top of him. "Hey," he said slowly. "Uh. Sorry to interrupt?"

Finley laughed, a panicked edge in the sound. It petered off into strained gasps when he tried to push Veselovsky's body off of him and wasn't strong enough to do it. 

"Fuck," he said. He looked at Alex. "A little help?"

Alex stared back at him. What the hell, he thought. He'd burned his fingerprints off when he was fourteen for a reason. He didn't exactly have  _ this  _ in mind when he did it, but life was full of surprises like that. 

He crossed the room and grabbed Veselovsky by the legs, yanking him off of Finley with one quick, hard jerk. 

"Thanks," Finley said, sitting up. They both stared down at Veselovsky's body for a moment, and then Finley looked back up at Alex and said, "I guess you don't want to help me with the body."

"I'm actively trying to avoid jail," Alex said, shrugging. He studied Finley a moment longer, and then said, "For what it's worth, if you hadn't killed him, I was going to." 

Finley blinked. "Damn. Maybe I should have come by ten minutes later."

Alex looked down at Veselovsky doubtfully, nudging the body with the toe of his boot. "He lasts that long? I had him pegged for being...premature."

Finley shrugged. "He had some stamina for an old man." He sighed, looking truly remorseful. "I really did love the bastard." 

Alex patted him on the shoulder. "Trust me, there will be other bastards. It's a big world."

"You're very kind for a would-be murderer," Finley told him.

Alex snorted. "You saved me a lot of time and effort. It's the least I can do. That being said…" He checked his watch. There was nothing to tie him to the crime scene except the two glasses of whiskey, but his DNA wasn't in any databases, so that would come up empty. Besides, Alex Rider had been dead for some time now. There would be little to do with his DNA even if they did somehow track it back to him. 

Still. It wouldn't do to be caught at a crime scene when he was on someone else's payroll. 

"I get it," Finley said, waving away Alex's excuses. "You should go before someone finds you. And I should figure out how to dispose of the body before someone figures out he's dead." 

"Sulfuric acid usually works well if you can find some," Alex advised. He saluted Finley, who returned the gesture, and then slipped back out into the hallway, disappearing from the club without a trace. 

* * *

Alex's flat was quiet when he returned. Even so, he knew before he opened the door that it was not empty.

Julia Rothman was sitting on his couch, legs crossed at the knee. Her lipstick was as dark as ever, everything about her polished and glossy. Alex said, "I'd tell you to make yourself at home, but you clearly already have. Tea?"

"No, thank you," Rothman said primly. She smoothed her pencil skirt over her lap and said, "Veselovsky was not handled very cleanly. That is unlike you." 

Alex blinked. Veselovsky's death must have made the news sometime between his flight out of Florida and his landing in Germany. 

"That is unlike me," Alex agreed. 

Rothman smirked. "And yet you managed to cover it well. A lover's spat, was it?"

Alex shrugged. So Finley had been caught, after all. "I try not to pry into the relationships of others."

"Hmm." Rothman stood then. "The money has been deposited into your account, as usual. Naturally, you took a pay cut, considering."

Irritation flared in his gut. "Considering?"

"That you were seen, of course." Rothman was smirking. "Or did you think this was a social visit?"

Alex stared at her, mouth pressed into a thin line. She said, "I suppose you _haven't_ seen, then." She retrieved an envelope from the designer bag on her shoulder, passing it to Alex. "This was found in numerous, nation-wide magazines. The last photo of Veselovsky before his death."

Alex opened the envelope slowly, and slid out the photograph.  It was him, of course, even though it was taken from a considerable distance. He was blurry, because the focus of the picture was Veselovsky, but it was undeniably him seated next to Veselovsky on that platform. 

"Huh," Alex said flatly. "That is definitely me."

"If you weren't your father's son, I would have already executed you," Rothman said serenely. "As it stands, I think it's time for you to retire."

"Retire," Alex repeated.

"Would you prefer execution?" 

Alex made a face. "You really think you know someone, and then they turn you out into the cold."

"Your friends at the bank would be very interested in having you back if you'd rather a career change," Rothman said, continuing as if Alex hadn't spoken. "They've already called demanding we let you go. They were quite surprised to discover that you are not, in fact, dead."

"Fuck," Alex said. 

Rothman smiled. It was cold, and once upon a time, Alex might have found it intimidating. "Fuck, indeed." She glanced at her watch. "I'll give you seventy-two hours to disappear before I send someone after you."

"How generous." 

"I can make it forty-eight."

"Seventy-two is fine, thanks." Alex sighed. "Ideally, then, this is the last time I'll see you. I'd say it was nice knowing you, but I try to avoid lying outside of work."

Her lips curled. "Just like your father." As she left, heels clicking on the hardwood floors, she called over her shoulder, "Seventy-two hours, Rider."

"Burn in hell, Rothman," Alex called back. Her laughter echoed down the hallway, and Alex took a moment to gather his wits before going to his room, not bothering to unpack his weekend bag now that he knew he would not be staying. 

"Seventy-two hours," he mumbled to himself, surveying the room for any essentials he might need on the run. "Let the games begin."

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not continue this, but it was meant to be a standalone! Thanks for reading!


End file.
